The Tidy Little Town
By Billy Evans
Now to all the locals, when the tourist come around,
They always love to stop and see the Tidy Little Town.
No litter thrown upon the streets, no writing on the walls,
No moss upon the cottage roofs, no chimneys going to fall.
But everything there neat and clean, no papers blowing around,
And everyone will love to see the Tidy Little Town.
Ballymore looks bright and well, it is an ancient town,
With the finest Irish history of any place around,
With Weaver’s Row inhabited and none of it pulled down,
I think that it’s a credit to the Town.
From St. John’s Church to the Market Square
and six arched Liffey Bridge,
And the old Naas Road and old Village Forge
where the anvil used to ring.
It is still there, bright and well and walls are very sound,
It is indeed a landmark for the Tidy Little Town.
When your place is neat and clean and you think there is no more,
Always try and give a hand to your neighbour there next door.
And everyone will work hand in hand as we often did before,
Some day we’ll get the highest mark for our town of Ballymore.
In the Centre please
Entries for our
Has now closed
The judges will read the stories
Submitted. Winners to be announced
in our March Edition of the Bugle
‘Cross-roads’ – a poem by Free Fitz G
One scent from a city bedroom and
those other nights remembered,
assembled to a tale that
had no beginning, has an ending.
dark nights, drenched dresses
and us hitch-hikers fearing not
people, but the dark, far-off trees.
Waiting to get to town halls,
ballroom colours, the
flour coloured faces of girls waiting
for the chance to get to cities and
the dancing, laughing, dancing going on.
Thrilling, dancing figures,
sticky cloak-room tickets, torn shoes.
Fearing, hoping that going home
will happen soon, with whatever
urgent whisper that we please.
Then the fading of the scent that brings friends further
from corn, cottages and ghosts in hay.